Doran's satisfaction was palpable. "Excellent. The ceremony begins before the next bell. Captain Aldric will escort you to the eastern balcony." His gaze shifted to Nero. "Your mate will stand beside you, naturally. The people must see your unity."
As the High Priest departed, Casteel sank into a chair, the weight of the ornate robes suddenly unbearable. "I can't do this," he whispered. "I can't condemn thousands to slavery just to save myself."
Nero knelt before him, hands gripping Casteel's shoulders firmly. "You won't have to. Aldric promised a diversion—we have to trust he'll deliver."
"And if he doesn't? If this is all some elaborate test of Doran's?" Casteel's voice cracked with strain. "Every word I speak from that balcony becomes law. Every life destroyed will be my responsibility."
"Look at me," Nero commanded, his voice gentle but implacable. When Casteel's blue eyes met his, he felt Nero pour every ounce of certainty he possessed through their connection. "Whatever happens today, we face it together. If Aldric fails, we’ll find another way. If we're forced to flee with nothing but the clothes on our backs, so be it. But you will not become Doran's puppet."
"The kitchen staff," Casteel said. "Aldric mentioned they remember me. If we need to run."
"They'll help," Nero agreed. "Servants know every hidden passage, every unguarded door. We're not as trapped as Doran believes."
A commotion in the corridor interrupted them—heavy footsteps, shouted commands, the distinctive clatter of armed men moving with purpose. Nero was on his feet in an instant, positioning himself between Casteel and the door, every muscle tensed for confrontation.
Captain Aldric burst in without ceremony, his weathered face taut with urgency. "The timeline has changed," he announced without preamble. "Doran moved the ceremony forward. You're to appear in twenty minutes."
"Why?" Nero demanded, suspicion flaring through their bond.
"Reports of unrest in the eastern quarter," Aldric replied, his eyes conveying more than his words. "Doran fears a delay will only increase tensions."
Casteel rose, the ceremonial chains clinking softly. "Is your...contingency still in place?"
Aldric gave a barely perceptible nod. "Adjusted, but operational. Be ready for chaos." His gaze speared them both. "When it comes, move quickly. Don't hesitate."
More guards appeared in the doorway—Doran's men, not Aldric's, their expressions coldly professional. "The High Priest commands your immediate presence," one announced. "The people grow restless." So much for even twenty minutes.
Aldric's jaw tightened, but he stepped aside with formal deference. "I'll escort our sovereigns personally."
As they moved through the palace corridors, Casteel felt as if he were walking to his execution. The ceremonial robes weighed him down, the chains at his wrists jingling with each step like a mockery of real shackles. Through their bond, Nero projected steady reassurance, though his own thoughts were calculating escape routes, assessing each guard they passed.
The eastern balcony overlooked the largest square in the city, now packed with thousands of people. The crowd stretched beyond what Casteel could see, a sea of desperate faces turned upward in anticipation. Banners depicting silver wolves fluttered from every building. Priests in ceremonial garb lined the steps below, ready to spread Doran's message throughout the kingdom.
High Priest Doran waited at the balcony's edge, resplendent in robes that matched the brilliance of the rising sun. His smile was triumphant as they approached, the smile of a man on the cusp of achieving everything he'd plotted for.
"Perfect timing," he murmured. "A new day, and with it, a new era for Abergenny."
Casteel's throat closed with dread as Doran pressed the decree into his hands. The parchment felt unnaturally heavy, each word upon it a potential death sentence for freedom. He felt Nero'sfocused alertness, his mate scanning the crowd, the guards, the surrounding buildings—looking for any sign of Aldric's promised diversion.
"Remember," Doran whispered as he guided Casteel to the balcony's edge, "every syllable must be exact. The gods watch, and they are not forgiving of those who betray divine purpose."
The crowd roared as Casteel appeared, thousands of voices raised in desperate acclaim. He stood frozen at the balcony's edge, the decree trembling in his hands as he faced the sea of expectant faces below. Children perched on their fathers' shoulders, women pressed forward with tears streaming down their cheeks, men who looked half-starved from the ongoing famine raised their fists in salute.
"People of Abergenny!" Doran's voice boomed across the square, amplified to reach even the farthest edges of the crowd. "Behold your Silver Wolf! Hear now the first decree of your divinely chosen king!"
The crowd fell silent with an air of anticipation so profound it seemed to press against Casteel's chest. He unrolled the parchment with numb fingers, the words swimming before his eyes. Casteel felt Nero's desperate hope—where was Aldric's diversion? How much longer could they delay?
Casteel opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He couldn't do it. Whatever the consequences, he couldn't condemn these people to the slavery disguised in Doran's decree.
"I..." he began, his voice barely carrying past the first row of listeners.
The first explosion shattered the morning air.
The blast came from somewhere in the eastern quarter, a deep rumble that shook the palace foundations and sent flocks of birds spiraling into the sky. Screams erupted from the crowd as people turned toward the column of smoke rising in the distance.
"What—" Doran spun toward the sound, his composure cracking for the first time since Casteel had known him.
A second explosion followed, closer this time, and then a third. Through the chaos, Casteel heard the distinctive sound of steel on steel—fighting had broken out somewhere in the city.
